Penance of the Damned (Sister Fidelma)

by Peter Tremayne

  Abbot Nannid made a cutting motion with his hand.

  ‘Since those days we have had more contact with the scholars of the Christian world in the east. We have sat too long beyond its borders. The scholars there have pointed out to us the errors of our early assumptions. It is to the Penitentials that we must now turn, as they have revised the old laws.’

  Prior Cuán now rose, leaning on his stick, and hobbled towards the Abbot of Mungairit.

  ‘Errors?’ he repeated in a shaky voice. ‘Do you accuse the Blessed Patrick of error? In Muman, the Faith was even brought here before Patrick by great scholars and teachers like Ailbe who founded my own Abbey of Imleach; by Ìbar, Abbán, Declan and Ciarán. Were these saintly scholars in error – and were the generations of great and holy men who followed them?’

  ‘Yes, they were in error,’ replied the abbot, unabashed. ‘How many had time to sit and reflect on the great work ordered by Damasus, the Bishop of Rome, who commissioned Eusebius of Stridon to translate the texts in a form which the faithful priests of Christ could understand? In those scriptures you will find the laws of God, the Patriarchal Laws which the followers of the Faith must obey and not question. I presume that you, Cuán, who call yourself a scholar of the Faith, have read these laws which now must supersede the laws of the unenlightened?’

  Prior Cuán chose his words carefully. ‘I have studied the texts, Abbot Nannid of Mungairit. You often quote the Old Testament rather than the teachings of the Christ. So let me ask you, what is the Old Testament to us? It is a collection of texts about the ancient people of Israel whose language and culture are barely intelligible to us, even if we have studied it. We are told that the Christ emerged from such a people and their culture. At the same time, the disciples, such as Paul of Tarsus, and the Church Fathers that followed him, tell us that Christ’s people rejected him and had him executed. His people did not want his teachings which had replaced so many of their laws and concepts.

  ‘We are told by the Blessed Paul that the words of Christ were to be brought to those not of the culture of the Old Testament. So we ask ourselves why are these texts part of our scriptures unless merely to show us the history and the type of people who came to reject the Christ? Why are we so confused by these old texts that many Christian councils cannot even agree on what texts constitute the Holy Scripture that we should adopt as our own Faith?

  ‘You remind us that Damasus the First, the Bishop of Rome, commanded Eusebius to translate the ancient texts into Latin. We find that this very act provoked arguments between Eusebius and Augustine of Hippo at the Council of Carthage … everyone had different opinions as to what should be left in and what should be left out of the final work.’ Prior Cuán paused, shaking his head in disgust. ‘What has the Tanakh, the Hebrew history of the Israelites and their battles, their philosophers and religion, to do with our equally ancient history, law and philosophies? Why should we accept the history and legends of the Israelites as more worthy than the history and legends of our own people? Instead of the Tanakh, why not accept the Lebor Gabálá Érenn? Why should we throw away our very being for a culture from the other side of the world?’

  The Prior of Imleach sank back on his seat. Fidelma gazed in amazement at the quiet passion of Cuán. Here was erudition indeed.

  Abbot Nannid was now white-faced with anger. ‘You are speaking heresy,’ he shouted when he could no longer contain himself.

  ‘He is denying the Faith!’ Brother Cuineáin echoed his master. Even Brother Tuamán, the prior’s steward, appeared to be troubled.

  ‘Not so!’ Prior Cuán replied, still seated. ‘I fully accept the word of Christ and the founding fathers of the Faith. What I am saying is that the texts of the ancient history and religion of the land in which Christ came into this world, and whose people rejected Him, are of no more worth than any other. What is more important is what Christ actually taught and the teachings that have been passed on to us in the manner of His New Faith.’

  ‘The words of Christ can only come from an understanding of the history of His people and their religion,’ declared the abbot.

  ‘But Christ is divine and above a product of one nation, one language and one culture. Is this not so?’ demanded Prior Cuán. ‘Aren’t we taught that?’

  ‘It is following the law of God that gives us the Faith,’ replied Abbot Nannid. ‘The law of God can only be that of his chosen people.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Prior Cuán asked. ‘Is it that the newfound law of the God of Israel must now be the sole arbiter of all our lives, just because we accept Christ? Yet Christ Himself did not accept this law but questioned it.’

  ‘We are talking about the murder of Abbot Ségdae. A life for a life! It is clearly said in the Old Testament.’

  ‘We are not arguing Gormán’s case,’ Brehon Faolchair reminded him again, ‘but whether the New Faith has abolished our laws.’

  Prior Cuán would not let the matter alone and surprised Fidelma by his vehemence. ‘You demand more than a life for a life, Abbot Nannid. Is it not so? You argue that whatsoever is ordered in the Holy Scriptures is now the law we must obey. That is what you claim as the Penitentials.’

  ‘The sacred scriptures are there to be obeyed,’ the abbot agreed dourly.

  Prior Cuán shook his head as if in sorrow. ‘The people of the Five Kingdoms hold most of their wealth in cattle, is it not so? Sometimes there are accidents with bulls, indeed, with other animals that become fractious, escape confinement and injure and even kill people. When this happens, in our law, compensation is made to the injured or their family. But the scripture known as Exodus says that not only must the animal be put to death but the owner as well. There is no choice in the matter. Do you follow that law?’

  ‘The law of God is the law,’ Abbot Nannid returned stolidly.

  ‘And a man gathering wood for his poor fire on a holy day, as recounted in the Book of Numbers: God instructed that he be put to death for his impudence. Do you agree with that?’

  ‘The judgement of God is not to be questioned.’

  ‘So we must follow these laws without question because they are written in scripture?’

  ‘That is what they are there for.’

  ‘This morning in the marketplace in the township, I saw a group of boys making fun of a merchant struggling with a bag too heavy for him. Often boys and even girls have a cruel sense of humour. But would you put them to death?’

  Abbot Nannid frowned momentarily. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because you say the judgement of scripture must be obeyed. In the second Book of Kings you will find that when the prophet Elisha was entering a town, a group of boys gathered round and made fun of his bald head. Elisha immediately had God strike them all dead for their impertinence. Do you find justice in that?’

  Abbot Nannid hesitated a little. ‘That law is the law,’ he finally mumbled.

  ‘Your law – not mine,’ Fidelma declared.

  Prior Cuán was not finished. ‘There are many things in the Old Testament scriptures that merit death according to your lights, Abbot Nannid. Even acts of kindness are punishable by death. Yet doesn’t Christ demand that we are all kind to one another?’

  Abbot Nannid was on the defensive now. ‘I have no knowledge of what you mean.’

  ‘I see. Yet I had assumed that your knowledge of scripture would have been extensive for one who advocates such a blind obedience to the law written there.’

  ‘Acts of kindness aren’t punishable by death.’

  ‘Then what of the story in Samuel when the Ark of the Covenant was being transported by ox cart down a hill and was in danger of falling off the cart because one of the ox team stumbled? Did not young Uzzah reach out a hand to steady it, to prevent it from falling into the mud and being damaged? For this offence it says that God struck him dead.’

  ‘He was punished for daring to touch the Holy Ark.’

  ‘To save it from being damaged. Did he deserve death as a reward for his a
ct?’

  ‘It is God’s judgement. We must obey the law which is instituted by God. The judgement of death is mandated by the Old Testament.’

  ‘Then many of us are worthy of being put to death,’ Prior Cuán said with mock resignation. ‘We must execute those who are disrespectful to their fathers or mothers, we must kill fortune-tellers, and women who are not virgins on their wedding night, we must slay adulterers … the list is endless. Will there be anyone left to inhabit your sort of Christian world, Abbot Nannid?’

  ‘Only those worthy of God’s infinite goodness will be saved.’

  ‘And you have appointed yourself God’s judge?’

  ‘God has already made judgement, and those judgements are in the scriptures that comprise the Old Testament.’

  Fidelma made one last attempt to bring reason into the discussion. ‘When I was young, I was taught by Brother Ruádan of Inis Celtra. That venerable old man told me that we are Christians because we are followers of the teachings of Christ, but we are not like the slaves of the ancient laws of the Israelites. The principles of our Faith were set forth by Christ.’

  ‘Did Christ not tell us in the scripture of Matthew that His mission on this earth was not to abolish the Law of Moses?’ The abbot proposed this with a look of triumph on his face.

  ‘Paul told the Galatians that the whole of the law is summed up in a single Commandment – that you shall love your neighbour as yourself,’ Prior Cuán replied. ‘Your Commandment seems to be that you will kill and punish as many of your neighbours as you see fit.’

  Abbot Nannid reared up in anger. ‘I have done with this. You will not move me from what I know to be right.’

  Prince Donennach belatedly intervened. ‘Abbot Nannid, have you considered where this matter might end?’

  ‘I have only considered what is right and wrong.’

  ‘Is there nothing I can say to you as Prince of the Uí Fidgente, as your prince, to persuade you to hand back the Cashel warrior to the custody of my Brehon so that he might be tried according to law? Will it avail me nothing if I plead with you not to go forward with your threat?’

  ‘It is not to make a point that I make this stand, Donennach. I argue that I must support what is right according to the Faith.’

  ‘Nannid, we are both descendants of Fiachu Fidgennid, both of the Uí Fidgente. My desire is to prevent our people descending headlong into war.’ The plea was almost a cry of despair. ‘For the sake of peace and our people, Nannid …’

  ‘You are the ones who will not see peace if you allow this matter to go unpunished. Does it not say in the writings of Deuteronomy that if you reject the words of a priest, or judge of God’s holy laws, you will also be put to death?’

  His words brought a shocked intake of breath from the assembly.

  ‘Be careful, Nannid of Mungairit,’ Prior Cuán intervened fiercely. ‘That clearly seems a threat against your lawful prince. Is it not said in Galatians, whatever a man sows, that shall he also reap?’

  ‘My faith and my duty are clear. Gormán of Cashel killed an abbot. Tomorrow at noon, he shall meet with the penalty prescribed by the Faith which has been embraced by our people.’

  Abbot Nannid now turned and, followed by his steward, Brother Cuineáin, he left the chamber.

  Prior Cuán looked apologetically at Prince Donennach. ‘I have done my best to argue with him on the grounds of the Faith, but I have failed. He is not moved. Nor will he be.’

  Prince Donennach raised his hands helplessly. ‘I thank you for your service. I thank you as well, Fidelma. I thank you both for trying to find some peaceful way of resolving this matter.’

  Fidelma, however, was still angry. She felt that Prince Donennach had shown weakness in actually pleading with Abbot Nannid. ‘You cannot allow this man to flaunt your authority and the ancient laws of this land.’ Her voice was icy.

  ‘What more can I do?’ Prince Donennach almost wailed.

  ‘You have your warriors here.’ She pointed at Conrí. ‘Send them to the abbey to bring Gormán here by force. Abbot Nannid has only four of Gláed’s murdering brigands to defy them and they are no match for trained warriors.’

  Brehon Faolchair felt he had to defend the prince. ‘And what would happen then? The word would spread among the Uí Fidgente that their prince dishonoured his most senior abbot by sending warriors to attack an abbey. That is against all the rules of the Faith as well as our laws. It would be rumoured that Donennach did this in order to release a murderer. Whether judged rightly or wrongly, it would be claimed that he did so because he feared retribution from the King of Cashel. How long would it be before the people rose up against him?’

  ‘Gláed and his men are encamped not far from here,’ added Prince Donennach. ‘I have no doubt that Gláed is waiting to intervene in this conflict. It may even be that this is planned. It could provide the very excuse that Gláed wants so that he can take advantage of the tumult that will ensue. If we thought our land was devastated after the defeat of Cnoc Áine, then it will be seen as paradise compared to what will follow if civil war is followed by war with Cashel.’ Prince Donennach rose abruptly. ‘My regrets, Fidelma. Truly, my regrets. If we are to descend into war, whether it be between Uí Fidgente and Uí Fidgente, or whether it will be against our old enemies, the Eóghanacht, we must prepare. I suggest that you and your companions make ready to leave our territory as soon as you can, for your own safety’s sake. Return to Cashel and tell your brother, the King, that I have tried my best to choose the peaceful road. Prior Cuán, you and your companions should also return to Imleach. I can do no more.’

  Brehon Faolchair after a moment’s hesitation, followed him from the hall. Conrí, with bow to Fidelma, went after them.

  Prior Cuán looked ruefully at Fidelma. ‘I hear you are fond of quoting some of the Latin philosophers, lady. As Virgil says – fata obstant. Fate has opposed us.’

  Fidelma thrust out her chin, a habit she had adopted when she was arguing a case that was not going to her liking. ‘There is a saying that we should not willingly surrender to fate.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid is an immovable object,’ the prior lamented. ‘Well, we will not be able to depart for Imleach until tomorrow. We’ll wait until … until the afternoon.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps I should make a representation to Abbot Nannid that we might take Gormán’s body with us so that he can be interred in his own territory?’

  Prior Cuán did not meet Fidelma’s eyes as he limped towards the doors of the hall. His silent steward, Brother Tuamán, with the scribe, Brother Mac Raith, followed despondently.

  Fidelma sat staring at the table before her as the hall emptied. Eventually there was a curious stillness. Eadulf had remained at her side, numbly contemplating the inevitability of what was to happen.

  ‘What now?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘Nannid has managed to get out of any accusation of being involved in a conspiracy with Gláed, and, he has even forced Prince Donennach to capitulate to his will.’

  ‘Abbot Nannid is determined to execute Gormán and I don’t doubt he will carry out his threat,’ Fidelma said.

  ‘So what can we do?’

  Fidelma glanced around to make sure they were not overheard. ‘There is only one thing left that we can do.’

  Eadulf met her gaze for a moment and then nodded, his expression grim. ‘So we’ll attempt to rescue him tonight?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  At the doors of the great hall they found an agitated Enda waiting for them.

  Fidelma looked at him with a frown. ‘I thought you were taking care of Aibell in the guests’ rooms?’

  ‘We could not help wanting to know what has happened. We heard that your arguments did not go well, lady. And we heard the worst.’

  ‘So where is Aibell?’

  ‘She had an idea and has left the fortress.’

  ‘Alone?’ Fidelma groaned.

  ‘She said she would be quite all right and will meet us shortly by the bridge
off the town square.’

  ‘You let her go unguarded?’ she demanded incredulously.

  ‘She is a hard person to argue with,’ replied the young warrior. ‘Come, we must go and meet her.’

  Fidelma raised her eyebrows at Eadulf. His amused expression told her that he knew someone else who was similarly stubborn. They passed swiftly through the main gates and went down to the square. Only a few people were standing about and the atmosphere was uneasy; there was a mood of fearful anticipation. The three hurried on towards the bridge, wishing they could make themselves inconspicuous.

  It wasn’t long before Aibell emerged from the township to join them. Patience was not one of Fidelma’s virtues and she greeted the girl with irritation rather than relief.

  ‘What on earth do you think you are doing!’ she snapped. ‘It is very dangerous to be wandering alone out here.’

  Aibell looked her straight in the eye. ‘Anyone could have told you that Nannid is as cruel as he is narrow-minded. That is why I have been discussing a plan.’

  Fidelma was astounded. ‘Discussing a plan with whom?’

  ‘Come, follow me,’ urged the girl, instead of answering. ‘We do not want to be seen here.’

  Before Fidelma could question her further, the girl had disappeared into a small passageway. She set off at such a quick pace that there was nothing to do but hurry on after her. The girl hastened with ease among the buildings until she came to a little house on the southern edge of the township. It was shrouded by trees on the edge of thick woodland. The girl paused before the stout wood door and knocked on it, calling as she did so: ‘It’s Aibell.’

  The door was opened by an elderly woman, her slightly bent shoulders covered by a thick woollen shawl and her long grey hair tied away from her forehead. She glanced at Aibell’s companions with sharp grey eyes, then stood back for them to enter without a word. The door closed behind them and they found themselves enveloped in warmth. Although it was summer, the central hearth was obviously not used just for cooking.

  Aibell laid a hand on the elderly woman’s arm and looked at the others.